Fame
by The Slytherin Corner
Summary: Entries for The Slytherin Corner Fornightly Challenge - Fame.
1. Remember Her Name

_**-Fame  
I'm gonna live forever  
I'm gonna learn how to fly-**_

"Godric, Lily, look at you!" Teddy Lupin exclaimed, striding across the field to pick her up, and swing her around.

He set her down to look at her properly for the first time in three years, his eyes sweeping up and down her, trying to drink in the sight of her, the girl who used to be his best friend, the girl he hadn't seen in three years, and hadn't spoken to in five.

She was still the same Lily he had seen at her graduation party three years ago, when he was watching her from across the room, pretending to be deep in conversation with her father. Short skirts, curly hair, face made up with the most expensive make-up made in the wizarding world, but there was something different about her aura, the way she held herself, her facial expressions.

Oh yes, she was still the same Slytherin she was before, her posture still screamed arrogance and pride, and her scarf was silver and green, but she seemed more at ease, calmer, happier with life.

"So, how've you been?" he asked, trying to combat the awkward silence that seemed to be clogging the air around them, "been up to much? I hear you went away with your uncles for a while?"

She looked at him, measuring him up as if to see if he was still worthy of her attentions or not, or perhaps just to see if he was being sincere.

"Yes," she replied at last, and he inwardly rejoiced at hearing her voice again for the first time in five years, unchanged by age, but perhaps a little more measured, reserved around him. But that was to be expected, he supposed, when directing your first words in five years to somebody who had ripped your heart out, and trampled all over it.

"And?" he prompted, after a few beats of silence.

"I spent a year with Charlie in Romania with the dragons. I loved the country, its culture, the people, and the dragons were the icing on the cake, I felt as though I connected with them – as though we were one of a kind. But when Charlie came back, and settled down, I spent about six months working for Gringotts in Paris with Bill and Fleur. I didn't really enjoy working in a bank though, it didn't excite me. I tried working in the ministry with Percy and Ron for another six months, but Percy's job was deathly boring, I'm not even sure what it was, and working with Ron was too much like it used to be, when I went in with dad. Working with George was good fun, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life, so after nine months of working there, three months ago, I came back here, to Romania."

"But why, Lily? Why run away from everything your family has built up for you?"

She sat down, slumped on the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her.

"Because I don't want to be like my parents, revered, hero worshipped. I don't want to live forever in the pages of some textbook, as 'Lily, the daughter of the Chosen One.' I want to have a life for me, I want to be who I want to be, not who the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly or whoever want me to be."

He could understand that, he really could, but what he couldn't understand was her need to run away to Romania to live in obscurity. Sure, he could see why she didn't want to be famous; she was the odd one out of all the Weasleys and Potters, the first one not to be in Gryffindor. The Daily Prophet had had a field day with that one – Lily Potter, daughter of the Chosen One, in a house with the children of _Death Eaters_.

She stood, smoothed her hair back, and regained her usual prideful and arrogant persona. The conversation was clearly over, and Teddy took that as his cue to leave.

Fame had caused Lily Potter to close herself off from the world, and Teddy had no idea how to bring her back.

But no matter how hard she ran, fame would never let her go. She _was _Lily Potter, daughter of the Chosen One, and her name was going to live forever, whether or not she liked it.

So Teddy left her, there in Romania with her dragons, running from fame as hard has she could. But she would never totally escape it.

Lily Potter, remember her name.


	2. Prettiest picture

At times, when she touches her stomach, she feels strangely wary, as if doubtful. He never spotted that faraway look in her eye.

_A hero's son._

_Will he be happy?_

Of course their life is perfect. They couldn't ask for more, really. Every moment is full of such love, seemingly coming from every direction, the glorious light a reparation of sorts for all the darkness they had to endure. Now is the perfect time. Their family is happy, glowing, balanced, ready.

(_perfection isn't quite so positive a word for her, though_)

_She_ is a Weasley still. Her name has been on people's lips for various reasons. She has her own face, her own character; she is herself in every way (_a woman_). Yet at times – especially _now_, expecting her baby, not flying anymore – she feels like Harry Potter's wife.

Nothing more, nothing less.

_What will be her son's chances?_

She grits her teeth and pushes the doubt away. _Of course_ it won't matter. Her son will be himself. A happy little being in this brand new world.

_Harry Potter's face, but without the scar. _

_Their Boy Who Lived has long become a man. Damn it, why can't they stop?_

She smiles, and tries to trust.

(_to forget about her instinct_)

But too soon there is a tiny, warm bundle in her arms, _oh-so-fragile_ and Harry is _oh-so-excited_ and he keeps on saying the same thing – and it makes him happy, so in the end she agrees.

(_her defence was so feeble, and she wants to scream but she manages to smile_)

(_so James it will be, and she's let him down already. It's so early, and already too late_)

Harry wouldn't understand.

Oh, she's still herself. Still every bit as fiery, determined, talented, dedicated and quick-witted.

But she started making compromises.

(_the first time she smiled at a journalist, instead of snapping – when was it again?_)

She's still flying.

She's still free.

But she has James, and then Albus, and then Lily and her life is just too full – she needs to give something up, and _of course_ it's going to be Quidditch.

(_they're so meaningful, her children, right from birth. They're like a living tribute, expected to live up to their names_)

(_and still she doubts and wonders, but she doesn't want to push it too far, she's scared to find out, the mistakes are made anyway_)

When did Ginny Weasley start being scared?

When Ginny Potter started tactfully improving that awful temper of hers, perhaps.

(_what a pretty family the hero now has, all for himself_)

(_don't they look just like the most perfect picture one could possibly imagine?_)


	3. dying, burning, falling

…f-a-m-e…

_(dying, burning, falling)

* * *

_

A hazy smile stretches her face, and you think that this is heaven.

Her lips meet a boy's (no, not yours, idiot) and you think that this is hell.

She speaks to you like you're a person (and it's all about heaven once more)—but then she forgets your name (we're back to hell, folks). In a pathetic (but nothing can really ever be pathetic with her, you know) attempt to recover the conversation, she calls you Scamander.

Damn, it's all about the last names, isn't it?

(ScamanderScamanderScamander.)

This is the story of your life, and you? You're just (Lorcan) Scamander.

* * *

Nothing's there. A haze of blackness and darkness and nothingness surrounds you, and you've sort of stopped trying a long time ago, remember? It's not _important_ anymore. You're not important anymore.

But sometimes, when the bitter loneliness is too much (even for you) you glance up from your pit of despair, and you see them surrounded by a buttery light, one that you will never see. It's your brother, Lysander (Scamander), laughing and talking and pulling off that bad-boy thing he has going on, and there's no _Scamander_ attached to his name, except for when it has to be. He's surrounded by friends (the ones you wished you had) and he's also talking to _her_ (the girl you wished you had).

And then, when this scene becomes too much of a burden, but you don't quite feel like retreating into your dark cloak, you glance to your left, where another butter-enveloped scene awaits your glance: it's your parents, smiling and laughing in their bliss, Luna (Scamander) and Rolf (Scamander), unaware that they're the ones killing you, them and their war-heroes-_shit_. (He knows he's hit rock bottom, because once upon a time, he never cursed, not even when influenced by Lysander.)

Oh, how you hate the four-letter-word.

(F-A-M-E.)

* * *

Don't they notice you dying, burning, falling? They should, they should—you know that for sure. Lysander glances at you sometimes, sure, but he's too wrapped up in his (existent) social life while you're too wrapped up in your (nonexistent) one to ever talk about it, and you won't cry to Mummy and Daddy (oh, but you do, when the moon is up and everyone else is at peace) because, recall this slowly, they're the reason you're dying in the first place.

Them and their _war-heroes-shit_.

* * *

(You want them to notice, so, so much.)

But they don't.

(You cry at night, hoping to wash away the pain.)

But you don't.

(You scream at yourself, telling yourself to stop overreacting.)

But you can't.

(You glare at them, wanting them to go away.)

But you won't let them just yet.

(You stop doing your homework whenever they ask you to even _mention_ the war heroes, hoping that they'll just let you skip it.)

But they don't.

* * *

And you're a blistering, burning, bumbling mess of scattered papers that were once so neat and shattered smiles grace your lips and one day, you snap, because you won't stand for being (Lorcan) Scamander anymore.

* * *

Will they rescue you in time? Probably not, but you can hope.

* * *

In a disarray of bottles and knives and sleepless nights, she finds you.

(No, not _her_, the one you're hopelessly head-over-heels for—the _other _one.)

She talks to you, tries to get you to see sense.

(And, you start noticing things.)

You realize that she's like you: (Lucy) Weasley, downtrodden by her _perfectlyshining_ sister and famous parents.

(Perhaps you fall in love.)

She tells you that she wants to help you, make you better, and you agree.

(But, see, you can't undo your mistakes when you've gone so far.)

You die early, much too early, the taste of rain on your lips and her absolutely horrified expression imprinting forever in what's left of your memory.

(You think, haphazardly, that she's pretty, and you know there's more to that thought, but everything shuts down before you can fini—)

* * *

_. . . _


	4. fall, fall, falling

**an- **sorry it's late. also, this isn't the completed version, but i just wanted to get it in :)

fall, fall, falling

She shines, shines, shines on.

And she doesn't need you anymore.

* * *

Because she's a star, can't you tell? She made it all this way, all the way to the top.

But if she's the king of the castle, then you're just the dirty, lonely rascal, sitting alone with your guitar, serenading thin air.

Oh, you must _support_ her, though, mustn't you? Because what she's doing is so wonderful, so amazing. Imagine, a _witch_ acting in all those muggle fiblms ("is _that_ what they're called?")! How extraordinary!

And she loves it, of course she does. She revels in the light her fans bathe her in and laughs to herself as she sees her beautiful life, laid out ahead of her. She feels like a queen.

But truly, she is only monarch of your heart, and, cheesy as it sounds, she is _one_ for you.

(You're the one for her, too, promise)

* * *

You were her best friend, right from the beginning. Because, at first, you were the same. Both overshadowed by your siblings, both overlooked compared to the rest of your families. You were the same right down to your date of birth, so you bonded over birthday cake and held hands as the world grew up around you.

And oh, you thought that would never change, didn't you? You didn't realise that, one day, you would not be enough for her.

That one day, she would grow up, and you would become…

(redundant)

So what do you do now? No Lucy beside you, not anymore. No, she's off doing bigger and better things, with more interesting people than you.

She's grown into her own person, without Molly to follow. She has her own career (fame), without having to rely on the fame her family brings her.

She told him she hated being famous.

But she told him a lot of things.

("Best friends forever, right Lorc?")

("I'll always be here with you")

* * *

So you grow up, and it's hard, because you're alone, but you manage, and you live a perfectly average life. Your job at the Ministry is stable, and your girlfriend is nice, and you're happy.

But it's not the life you _want_. It has no excitement, no passion.

It has no _Lucy_. She was always your best friend and oh, how you miss having her.

Sometimes, when you're feeling particularly weak, you switch on the muggle television your girlfriend bought and put on one of her films, losing yourself in what she's become.

Because she glows, and you're happy for her.

But you're not half as happy for her as you feel sorry for yourself, living this life. And isn't that just disgusting? Your best friend grows into a wonderful, fabulous person, and all you can do is sit with your beer, mourning the path you've chosen to take.

But all she is to you now is an autographed picture and the memory of lipstick-stained kisses (on the cheek, of course), and oh, how you wish she was not so far above you.


End file.
